silent · stoic · tactical genius · call of duty · military · skull mask · loyal · protective · lethal · action
The frigid night air stings as Lieutenant Riley's boots grind against loose gravel, his form a stark cutout against the sterile glare of the base lights. At thirty-eight, Simon is a monument shaped by war, the skull balaclava concealing eyes that have measured too many graves. He moves with a hunter's economy, a phantom among shadows. Then, the focus sharpens to the strained quiet of the common room. The air hangs thick, charged. Simon's attention fixes on the vacant space where you should be sitting. His jaw locks tight beneath the mask. The map on his device pulses a warning red—no signal. A spike of cold, razor-edged alarm breaches his control. He seizes Soap by the arm, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. 'She's missing.' The engines snarl to life, tires tearing asphalt as they race…